Black Birds
by einfach mich
Summary: Something changed during the time Daryl and Michonne spent together, hunting the Governor. Takes place before the start of Season 4.
1. Devils in the Detials

If pressed, Daryl will admit to loving all manner of women. Push him, and he'll just shake his head, an invisible fish hook tugging at the corner of his mouth. His squinting eyes will turn toward the horizon, and he'll say something like, "devil's in the details", his gravel and whisky voice crackling over every syllable.

He ain't being coy, though he don't mind if folks see it that way. It's just a habit, too hard-earned and well used to give up now. Even though that world is dead and gone, it clings to his skin and digs into bones. Like deep grooves in a well traveled road. He can still feel them, and sees them when he closes his eyes at night.

* * *

The walker hangs from the tree, like a broken Christmas ornament. A gingerbread man with bloody stumps, and no pants. What's left of his dick dangles, like rotten fruit from a thin strip of skin. Michonne turns to look at Daryl, who's watching the walker do a sad, little jiggly dance, while the rope around its neck is doing a slow job of sawing off its head. He sighs heavily and says, "don't say it."

"Not sayin' a word." She unsheathes her sword, but stops short when Daryl shakes his head.

"I got this." He doesn't look at her, just raises his crossbow and looses the bolt. A soft shush of the arrow cuts through the air, like a reassuring whisper, punctuated by a harsh thunk as it finds a new home in the eye of the walker. Its body jolts hard, snapping the last thread of flesh holding its cock and balls. They drop to the ground a few inches from the toe of Daryl's boot.

That's the moment when the tension breaks and Michonne lets loose a snort of laughter. It's so sharp, and loud Daryl can't help but join in. When he finally looks over, he finds her face split with a wide smile. Her teeth shine in the mid-afternoon sun, and a ghost of a similar smile passes through his mind. Regret coils like barbed wire in his gut, and reaches up his spine to wind around his throat.

His laughter dies. Silence quickly follows. The emptiness hangs like a rope around his neck. A chill crawls across his skin, but he shakes it off with a hot streak of self loathing and clears his throat. "Best get movin'. Got a lot of ground to cover before sundown." He kicks the walker's dick into the brush and walks away.

He hears leaves crunch under her feet as she falls in beside him, but she doesn't say a thing. Her silence is a gift, allowing him to focus on the path ahead. If only he could just figure out how to leave the past behind him.

* * *

"Boy, I told you to watch your six," Merle was hissing in his face.

"Get the fuck off me." Daryl fought in vain, his scrawny arms were no match for Merle's thick muscles and tequila fueled rage. "I ain't done nothin'."

"You done plenty, pretty boy." Merle let out a huff of laughter and dropped Daryl back to the ground. "Mason saw you and your little colored girl by the creek. He'll be jaw all over town about it before night fall."

"We was just talkin'." Daryl scrambled to his feet and tried to straighten shirt only to find the collar ripped.

"Tell that to the old man," Merle leaned back on the hood of his rusted Lincoln. "He'll love hearin' his baby boy's got a taste for dark meat."

Daryl tried to suppress the chill of fear chasing sweat down his spine to seep into the waistband of his jeans. It wasn't more than a year since Merle had knocked up that cute Mexican girl from the diner. Daryl had been dragged along and made to watch, while Merle punched his girl's stomach until she bled all over her legs. They stood there, staring at the girl crying in a puddle of blood, while their old man drove off. Left them to walk home. Daryl can still remember the empty look in Merle's eyes as they walked away from the diner. He didn't want to look like that. Not ever.

"Shit, you look ready to piss yourself." Merle laughed so hard his head looked like it was going to come right off. "I got ya."

Relief and rage washed through Daryl, leaving him shaking. "Fucker!" He leapt forward, to throw a punch, but Merle deflected it with ease and gave him a hard slap across the face.

"Serves you right." He straightened, serious again. "I made sure Mason kept his mouth shut. Took knockin' out some of his teeth, but he'll stay quiet. But let's be clear on this little brother. That's the last time I'll cover your ass. Stay away from them. No pussy's worth it."

* * *

He wakes in a cold sweat. The night chills the sweat, even as it springs up on his skin. The woods are like a black mass, topped with cookie-cutter pieces of the night sky above. He squints trying to get his bearings, and something shifts beside him.

His hand goes to his knife, but a warm hand covers his leg. Her eyes catch the starlight and his heart slowly retreats back down his throat. She smiles, a tiny flash of white and then pats his thigh. "We're good. Go back to sleep." She leans close to whisper in his ear.

He can feel the press of her body against his shoulder, the smell of her teases his nose with a strange mix of mint and the oil she uses on her hair. It reminds him of a another time, where he'd eat until his belly was full and he wasn't afraid to talk. Just this once he doesn't push it away, but embraces the memory of laughter and the taste of cherries on his tongue. Daryl closes his eyes, and slips back into the warm embrace of sleep with the feel of Michonne's hand on his thigh and the smell of her hair making his mouth water.

* * *

"You're dumb." Alicia Green stared down at him from the brick wall that lined the playground, one ribbon strap of her purple halter-top sliding off her narrow shoulder. Her smooth, dark skin practically glowing in the afternoon light. A thick curtain of black braids framed her round cheeks. She tilted her head in a challenge, causing the rainbow colored beads on the ends of her braids to clatter. He licked his lips, tried to keep from smiling, and squinted against the sun shining over her head, like a lemon-gold halo.

Every inch of Alicia Green oozed attitude, from the dimples in her cheeks to the slow swing of her hair. Some folks said a girl like her ain't go no right to put on airs the way she does. Alicia's got no problem telling those folks where they can stick it, though. Daryl's got no problem giving it back to her, even if it earns him a bloody lip. "And you're a bitch."

She answered with a curse, and launched herself off the wall, like a wild cat. Daryl was ready, arms open and braced for her impact. She hit him in the chest, and he went down hard on his back with a grunt. Alicia didn't give him a chance to catch his breath, her fast hands slipped under his threadbare shirt and danced along his ribs.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl gasped around fits of laughter, grabbing for her wrist, and held them tight, while sucking in air.

"Pussy," she laughed, her teeth shining like knives, and her eyes glowed with a promise of evil that made his dick hard.

Alicia sat astride his hips, her knees squeezing him hard. They both knew he had no hope of fighting her off. It didn't matter if he had her hands, every part of her was a weapon. From the sharp smirk curling the corner of her mouth to the slow glide of her hips, that dragged her ass over his dick. She knew how she affected him. There were things you could fight, and ones you just let roll over you like a hurricane.

She leaned down, pressing her body against his chest, and driving the air from his lungs. Her braid slid off her shoulder to slap against the side of his face, and blocking out the sunlight. He stared up into her dark eyes and couldn't fight the smile splitting his slips any longer.

Alicia's face hovered above him, her fingers tangling in the chain hanging from his neck. The little cross she'd given him last Christmas shone against the dark skin of her palm like a tiny treasure. It was nothing special. A piece of tin covered in a thin, already flaking layer of fake gold, but it was his, and to Daryl that was worth more than its weight in real gold.

"Don't got long." She didn't have to explain her meaning; they'd been playing this game long enough for him to catch on quick.

"Best get going," he whispered, holding himself back, though every part of him was screaming to kiss her right there.

It wasn't worth risking one of the Merle's friends seeing, or worse his old man. They both had a lot to risk, but it was worth it. No question.

Alicia bolted up, yanking the necklace free of his neck, and took off running. Daryl cursed, as he got to his feet. He was gonna have to fix the links of the chain again, and it was getting so short it damn near choked him. Not that he minded, if it meant he could steal another moment with her.

It was easier when they were younger. To most folks around, kids were a nuisance. Flies with legs and mouths that made too much noise. No one paid no mind to their color, as long as they kept out of the way, and stayed out of trouble. In those days it was easier for Daryl to slip past people's notice, to avoid his old man's belt and do what he pleased. There were advantages to being small and quiet. Like being able to find great hiding places, like under the old shed near in Whitman's Hollow.

That's where Alicia first found him. A knee high string bean of a kid, covered in a dirt, wearing a worn pair of overalls two sizes too big. He was curled up in an old sleeping bag he thought was left behind by one of the teenagers, who used the shed to fuck. As it turned out the sleeping bag and secret spot belonged Alicia. Luckily for Daryl, she didn't mind sharing the space, as long as he didn't mind doing whatever she said, like washing in the creek and staying quiet while she read to him from her school books.

Those were innocent days, when he thought he just liked the way she smelled, and how she always brought him her momma's delicious cooking. Soon enough he grew up and started to notice Alicia had too. Soon enough friendship gave way to something more.

He caught up to her at the shed, spotted her sneakered feet slipping under the lip of the porch. Her giggling was muffled, but no less taunting. Daryl dove in after her, intent on catching her, but having to belly-crawl through the dirt and cobwebs slowed him down.

When he finally got to her, they tumbled into the nest of old blankets and sleeping bags they'd created over the years. A few torn comic books crinkled under their bodies, and Daryl knocked his ear against Alicia's hardback copy of Treasure Island. She used to plan how they would run away to become pirates, and have all manner of adventures. The only problem was Daryl hated boats, but he never told her; he didn't want to ruin the dream.

"You're as clumsy as a one legged dog in an ass kicking contest." Alicia laughed, her teeth catching the tender skin of his neck and making him groan into her collarbone.

"More like three legs," he mumbled, rubbing the new stubble on his chin across the top of her breast, and smiled when she cursed.

"You've got a filthy mouth, Daryl Dixon." Alicia arched up against him, her fingers sliding through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He had no words to answer. His teeth were too busy biting into his lip, while he shifted to press his denim covered dick against her leg. Alicia gasped in surprise and moved against him.

They'd done this dance before. Bodies rubbing hard against each other, trying to light a fire. It wasn't fucking, but it felt like a slice of heaven to him, and a sight better than the sweaty, ugly mess he'd seen in the pornos Merle showed him.

Just about everything Daryl'd learned about sex came from the dank, den of shit that was Merle's room. It was a sloppy pigsty that stank of weed and ball-sweat. Daryl hated every second he spent in there, but his curiosity kept him coming back. Every damn inch of the room was covered in sex, from the pile of old porno tapes on top of the TV set to the crusty pillow in the corner, and the centerfolds plastered all over the walls. Nothing but peaches and cream pussies as far as the eye could see.

But all the sweaty, cum-soaked wisdom he gained from Merle's room was wasted in moments like this, with Alicia curled up in his arms. Her dark skin beneath his pale hands, her soft words of encouragement and throaty moans were from a different, better world. Merle's glossy, white girls couldn't hold a candle to the feel of Alicia's warm skin and sharp laughter. Their tear-drop tits, and pink pussies told him nothing he wanted to know. There were no magazines with girls who looked like Alicia. No movies with girls who talked back their men, who told them how they wanted it and gave as good as they got it. All the girls in Merle's porn looked sad and lost; there was nothing sexy about that to Daryl.

He wanted to know what Alicia looked like without her clothes. Wanted to see her nipples hard under his palms, her long legs spread wide for him, showing him everything in the bright light of day. Not down here in the dirt, and shadows, but he was thankful for what little he got because these stolen moment of feeling her pressed against his hard dick was a worth more than all that triple X shit.

Alicia's hand slipped under the waistband of his jeans, the soft tips of her fingers brushed his dick. He hissed, and shifted away. It was too much, too fast. He didn't want to come like some chump.

"You first," he insisted, rolling onto his side and kissing along her neck. He undid the front of her jeans with one hand, and felt like a fucking badass. Alicia's dark eyes closed as his hand slid into her panties and brushed the slick heat between her legs. There was absolutely nothing in the world like the feel of her on his fingers. So fucking wet and hot. It felt too good, dangerous even. Like playing with matches.

Alicia's legs spread for him, and he closed his eyes, trying to picture what his fingers were feeling. Soft, slick, like the petals of flower at daybreak, covered in dew and the warmth of the morning sun. He dipped his fingers inside, not too deep. Alicia wouldn't let him go further, but he only needed this little bit. He skirted the edge of her pussy and imagined how it would feel on his dick. How would it feel to try to fit inside her, her soft, wet pussy squeezing him tight.

She moaned, and pulled at his hand, moving it where she need it. "Rub it."

Daryl smiled against the skin of her neck, and drew ever-tightening circles around her clit. She'd taught him all he really needed to know, more than he ever learned from porn. Her breathing quickened, while he drew patterns on her slick skin, and nipped at her earlobe. She came with a shuddering cry of his name, her legs clamping hard around his hand. Her nails digging into his arm to the point of pain, but he didn't complain.

Alicia turned her head, giving him a lazy smile, and he stole a quick kiss. She tasted like cherries from the Ringpops they liked to buy at the dime store. He sucked at her tongue, trying to savor the flavor of her mouth.

"Leesha!" The yell rang out so close they both pulled back from each other like they'd been burned.

It was her older brother, Jackson. Daryl could see him standing by the edge of the woods, walking toward the shed. He was almost six foot tall and built like a bear.

"I'm coming." Alicia called back, zipping up her pants and scrambling out from under the shed.

Daryl rolled into a blanket for cover and waited. He could hear them talking shit to each other. Something about their mother wanting Alicia back home to help with dinner. He caught Jackson saying something about her being too old for her hideout, said she shouldn't be out there alone. Then their footsteps retreated, and Daryl let the air out of his lungs in a slow exhale.

As he lay there, heart still racing, staring at the cobweb-covered floorboards of the shed, he wondered if there was something not right with him. There was no way he should have a raging boner, but he did. It ached and nagged at him.

"Fuck," he groaned, opening his jeans and easing his dick out, careful not to scrape it on the teeth of his zipper. He closed his eyes, picturing Alicia again, her legs spread, but this time she was naked, waiting for him to slide inside her tight, wet pussy. A wave of heat washed through him at the thought and the image of her naked underneath him. Her dark skin all over, smooth and tasting like cherries on his tongue. He quickened his pace, and put the fingers he'd just had inside Alicia inside his mouth. There was no way he could describe how she tasted. He sucked on his fingers, teeth biting into his own skin.

Lightning flashed behind his eyelids, and ricocheted down his spine. He came in a hot stream, covering his hand and stomach, his body pulsing with the echoes of it. He kept his eyes shut, trying to hold on to the image a little longer, but it slipped away into darkness.

* * *

"Come on, lazy bones." Michonne's voice drags him from the shadows, as she gently shakes his shoulder.

He cracks an eyelid to see dawn already turning the sky an angry shade of orange. "Shit. Why'd you let me sleep all night?"

She rolls up her pack and shakes her head. Her dreads swing in a lazy way that make him blush like that 15-year-old boy. He tries to rub the blush away with the back of his hand, fakes yawn and silently prays she doesn't notice.

"Figured you needed the rest, and I didn't mind keepin' watch." She stands, sliding her pack onto one shoulder, and securing her sword on her hip. "I'll take a nap when we stop for lunch."

He gets to his feet, gathers his own belongings into his bag, and makes ready to leave. "If you're sure."

"If I wasn't, I'd say something." She replies, tilting her head to the side and raising an eyebrow, silently pointing out just how stupid the conversation is.

Daryl takes the hint, secures his bag around his chest and hoists his crossbow into place. "Fine. Let's go."

She smiles, just a flash of teeth and one dimpled cheek, before turning to lead them out of the woods. Daryl watches her go, his eyes on her ass and his half-hard dick poking into his leg. It was going to be a long day.


	2. One For Sorrow

_A wise man once said to me, if your heart don't break you can't be free. I'm free as a bird flying out over the sea. _

_Kasey Chambers, The Mountain_

Long ago, in another life, someone once told her she would have to fight twice as hard to get half as much as others. Michonne supposes somewhere along the way she forgot how to stop fighting. The fire sank deep in her blood, tempered her into something dangerous, like the steel in her hands. It isn't easy being hard, but it gives her something akin to comfort. At least it used to.

Something has changed, and if pressed she'd admit it started with Andrea, but Michonne's never been one for looking back. Even now, as they move through the forest, she tries to keep her mind on the path ahead. Daryl, like a shadow at her back, brings a new kind of comfort. One she is not sure is welcome, but she isn't exactly pushing him away, either.

The thought trips her up, makes her stop, suddenly unsure of the surroundings. She chalks it up to a distraction. Swears she heard the sound of a broken twig. In the back of her mind, a voice wonders if it might not be something else breaking.

"Somethin' up?" Daryl's breath brushes her ear, sending shocks across her skin, and she shakes her head.

"It's nothing." She pushes herself forward, ignoring the tension in her body that demands she return to the moment and the feel of his breath on her body.

There is no time for this foolishness, not with walkers lurking and the Governor still breathing. There are things that need to be done, but the feeling looms over her, like a heavy blade above her head, demanding her attention. She feels its weight in the way Daryl's eyes track her every move, and the soft urgent murmurs that slip from his lips as he sleeps.

In the darkness of night, when all she has is her thoughts and unwanted memories, his need is like an anchor dragging her down. It tugs at her whenever they're close. She does her best to ignore it, but there's only so long she can hold out against it.

The weather's turned cold, and the night has a bone deep chill that refuses to he ignored. They fight it as long as possible, shivering under layers of clothing and their thin blankets. Both refusing to to see the simple truth until absolutely necessary. In the end, it's Michonne who finally breaks, and uses both their blankets to make a bed.

"It'll be warmer," is all she offers, and Daryl only grunts in response.

They bed down, Daryl at her back, while she keeps watch, her sword close at hand. Michonne tells herself it won't be anything. They can pass the night tangled together without it going any deeper, but the weight of his arm on her waist and the heat of his body soaking into her bones begs to differ.

The first few nights pass without incident, save for Daryl's tight grip on her body and his urgent whisperings in his sleep. Michonne hums to sooth him, ignoring how it sounds like a long-forgotten lullaby, and how her throat tightens around each note. The hollow spot inside her chest aches with every breath and nags at her, even when it's her turn to sleep.

In the light of day, the strangeness of the night is burned away and the mission takes over again. They continue to exchange easy smiles, and share their comfortable silence, neither one acknowledging how things have changed. Daryl's good at playing dumb; she understands how it can be easier than facing the truth. Still there is something heartbreaking about a man who won't reach out for what he wants, like a starving man at an overflowing dinner table. No one's so blind they can't see how badly he wants her, not even Michonne.

With each passing day it becomes harder to ignore, and part of her is starting to believe she could be the answer he needs. That's the problem. He doesn't need her, and he shouldn't depend on her. Love, light and the promise of a better future, those are things people need. Those things died inside Michonne, a long ago. All what's left is this hard, deadly thing in the shape of a woman.

She isn't what Daryl wants, sure as Hell isn't what he needs. He can keep reaching, but she is not going to give an inch. Even she isn't that selfish, no matter how nice it feels to not be alone. She's made that mistake before and it's never worth it.

Best laid plans is how the saying goes, and that's how she's slipped. It was easy. This man makes her too comfortable, too at ease. She supposes it's in his nature, to smooth her rough edges, to calm the storm inside her head and make her want to be the person he sees when he looks at her. It would be so much easier if she were that woman, but those kinds of lies never fit right.

Michonne should know. She spent too many years wearing the weight of a good man's love. Felt it cover her like a warm blanket, and eventually hardened into an unbreakable shell that even the likes of Daryl Dixon couldn't crack.

That's where she went wrong. She mistakenly believed she could resist the pull of Daryl's need, could ignore the seductive gravity of being the center of someone's attention. Stronger women have fallen for less, and Michonne is no better.

He's dreaming again, caught in the web of pain and regret, whispering promises against the bare skin of her neck. Michonne tries to soothe him, reaching behind her to touch his arm. The contact sets him off, he moves too fast, grasping her body with a ferocity that has her gripping her sword hilt.

The soft cry, his voice cracking around an unfamiliar name, gives her pause. She releases her grip on the sword. It's another dream, more of Daryl's shadows come to visit. She relaxes into his body, hoping the calm will seep into him, but it only serves as an invitation. His hand slides inside her vest, and under the collar of her shirt to skirt the edge of her bra.

She gasps at the contact, feels her body respond and tries to suppress it, but his fingers keep searching. They find purchase wrapped around her already hard nipple. It is too far; she has to stop him, but something in her head begs to let it continue. It is selfish and stupid, she needs to shut him down.

"Daryl," she nudges him with her shoulder, and he comes to with a startled snort.

His hand disappears, and his body tenses, like a iron rail against her back. "Shit, I'm so-"

She cuts him off, with a shake of her head, and grabs his arm. "It's okay."

He fights her like a confused child. She has to roll over and take hold of his face, even in the dark she knows he can see the reassurance he needs in her eyes. Relief crashes over him. The fight leaves his body, and drags him down on top of her. She takes his weight, telling herself it's for his sake. When his lips brush against her neck, quickly followed by his teeth, she almost believes the lie.

Their movements are slow and clumsy, eager hands tugging aside clothes to explore bare skin. His mouth makes a map of her body, telegraphing his desire in intricate patterns of kisses, licks and bites. She struggles to muffle the moans and cries of surprise he inspires with his enthusiasm. He makes a feast of her, hungry to taste every inch. All she can do is lay back and keep her eyes on the forest around them, mind and body warring for her attention.

It's too dangerous to lose her focus completely. They're still exposed in the dark of night with nothing to protect them but the thin shell of their blankets. No matter how much she wants to give in and lose herself in this moment, she can't. Not all the way.

Daryl mutters a curse, while he wrestles her jeans off her hips, and she stifles a chuckle at his frustration. She places her hand on his shoulder, shifts her weight and frees one leg from the tight grip of her clothes. He doesn't wait for her leg to lower before his mouth latches onto the soft skin of her belly and kisses a trail down her body.

She wants to close her eyes, but can't stop scanning the forest, while stealing glances at Daryl's face between her thighs. Pleasure claws at her spine, screaming at her to give in and let go. His tongue and fingers are making it harder for her to resist.

He reaches his free hand up her body, twisting his fist in her shirt, and pulls up, demanding her attention. She can see his gaze, intent on her, and it ignites a fire she hasn't felt in too long.

Before she can catch her breath, while she's still contracting around his fingers, he leans up and captures her mouth. His tongue slips between her lips, curls inside her mouth mirroring the movement of his fingers. It kicks off another spine bending orgasm that leaves her breathless, and desperate for air.

She places a hand on his chest, breaking the kiss, but he doesn't let her go far. His hand is on the back of her neck, as he presses their foreheads together. She can smell herself on his breath, feel it wash over her face, and aches for his mouth to return.

"I wanna, but I don't have anythin' - ya know." He speaks in starts and stops, still breathing heavy and her brain scrambles to put together his meaning.

When she does, something cold settles in her stomach, but she pushes it away. There'll be time enough for it to eat at her later. Right now she wants this, needs this escape, if only for a few more minutes.

"I don't need it. Can't get-" Her throat closes around the words, not letting it slip out, but she doesn't need to finish.

Daryl's mouth returns to her with renewed vigor, as if he can kiss away the pain, or at least give a damn good job of trying. She smiles despite the sadness, and helps him move between her legs. He pulls back, and she hears the unmistakable sound of metal parting. Then he's there, pressed against her, and so much more real than she was ready for. She tries to take a deep breath, but he's already sliding inside her and there's no more room for anything else.

He still has a hold on her neck, and he puts his other hand under her ass. She's off the ground before she realizes what he's doing. There's no time or space in her mind to do anything but cling to his shoulders, as he settles her over his lap. She can't do anything but feel him sink deeper, and she bites down on the thin skin of his shoulder to keep from screaming out how good it feels.

"God damn." His voice is hoarse and echoes inside her head.

She sets her feet on the ground and tries to use the leverage to meet his thrusts. It's what she needs, to get back on top and in control. She opens her eyes, scans their surroundings again, relieved to find it clear.

"Stay with me." He takes a hold of her face, pulls her away from his shoulder and makes her look at him.

It's too much. The man in front of her, inside her is too real. She can see herself in his light eyes, see the woman he wants and wishes she could be for him. A tear slips from the corner of her eye, catching on his thumb, and Daryl nods his head, closes his eyes, and winds his arm around her back to pull her closer.

Their bodies continue to move in an ever-quickening pace, chasing pleasure and escaping pain with every breath. Michonne looks at the sky, the black has long since faded to shades of a purple and blue, like an ocean above them. Fitting since she's drowning on air, and the feel of Daryl's body. Her fingers are tangled in his hair, and calves are burning from the effort of keeping up the pace. She knows how to end it, knows what she needs to do, but knowing a thing and doing it are as different as day and night.

A bird flies overhead, black wings beating the sky and making it look so easy. She sighs, pulling on Daryl's hair, and urges to lift his head. Just this once, she tells herself and looks down into his eyes, a smile on her lips. He smiles back, and she closes the distance between them with a kiss. His hold on her tightens and his movements become lightning fast.

She comes hard and fast, nails digging into his skin. Her mouth captures his scream, as he thrusts one last time and comes inside her. She feels it pass through him, like an earthquake, leaving him weak in its wake.

He lies back into the tangled mess of leaves, moss and their twisted blankets. She shifts off of him, but his arm keeps her close to his body. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. She gives him the moment to savor it. One last gift.

The chilly air quickly brings her back to reality, and she twists out of his grasp and pulls her clothing back on. Standing, she stretches and looks down at him sprawled on the ground. His pants are around his ankles, the collar of his shirt is torn and his mouth is a curved line of self satisfaction. It looks good on him, like an old friend finally coming home, which makes what she has to do even more painful.

"We should get an early start, if we plan to get back before night fall." She pulls a rag from her pack and tosses it onto his dick.

He leans up on his arms, an expression of disbelief on his face. "Serious?"

"Did I stutter?" She suppresses the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Come on, lazy bones."

"Yes ma'am." He ducks his head to smile, in that shy way that makes her hand itch to brush the hair out of his face, and quickly cleans himself up.

He has been trying to convince her that the trail had gone cold for the last week. She doesn't believe it, he's just longing for the comfort of a roof and four walls. He wants to go back to his group, and she doesn't blame him. She'll take him back. It's where he wants to be anyway, and then she'll continue on alone. It's better this way, for both of them.

She hopes that maybe if she believes it hard enough it will be true, but the empty ache in her chest begs to differ.


End file.
